


The Conduct of One Hour

by lettered



Series: Words And Not Deeds [3]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Barebacking, Edgeplay, Felching, M/M, Rimming, Risk Aware Consensual Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 02:50:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11004423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettered/pseuds/lettered
Summary: Porn in the Words And Not Deeds universe.  It's okay if you haven't read the other ones because it is porn.  I'm trying to think of something else to say that isn't porn, but it's porn.





	The Conduct of One Hour

They’d been fucking almost a month. Rick had called it “going out,” which was nice but like. Fake. They didn’t go much of anywhere, which was totally fine with Daryl. They’d gone to that baby store, that one time. Daryl made Rick go to a grocery store, cooked him a pot roast another time.

Once they went to a Fuddruckers, which wasn’t so great. Rick just kept _looking_ at him, smiling at Daryl over his potato wedges, biting his lip when Daryl licked his fingers. Jesus. Daryl was just trying to _eat_ , and he’d always been pretty sure he was a slut but _Rick_ was the one who just didn’t stop. Always thinking about it. Always looking so—so goddamn _ready_ for it. Broadcasting it to the whole goddammed restaurant, and it turned Daryl’s stomach. He’d lost his appetite, which he guessed was okay. Getting fucked on a full stomach weren’t that great anyway.

But Rick had said he’d liked it. He’d jacked Daryl with his hand, put his face in Daryl’s neck, and said, “I liked that. Going out with you,” and it made Daryl come so hard that he guessed he wouldn’t mind going to Fuddrucker’s again.

They mostly did it in Rick’s apartment, aside from the first time, which had been in Daryl’s trailer. Daryl thought maybe the reason was that bed Rick had got. The one with the headboard and the hooks in it, his kinda skanky fabric ties, but Rick hadn’t done that again. Hadn’t brought up the safeword thing in a while either, though he’d made it pretty clear Daryl could still use it. Like it was a permanent kind of thing, a thing that would always mean stop, no matter what. Daryl guessed that was okay.

He was kinda waiting for the other shoe to drop, but so far it hadn’t. Rick had had to stay late for work a few days and Daryl still had Carol and Sophia. He didn’t wanna stop seeing them just because he was getting fucked again, and Carol was planning on buying that house. 

Sophia’d finally got Daryl down there to ride horses with Beth. Daryl thought maybe he should’ve made Rick come, because Sophia asked him about that, but he hadn’t known whether he could act normal around Rick. Certainly Rick wasn’t one to count on in that respect. Couldn’t even keep it to himself at a goddamn Fuddruckers, what was it gonna be like with hay and the smell of horses and sunlight streaming in through the slats of that barn, and Rick looking like a goddamn movie star, like something from high quality art porn about the rodeo. Shit. Rick said he knew how to ride a horse. Daryl got hot just thinking about it, so no. He didn’t invite Rick to come watch him fall off a horse; that’d be dumb.

Instead, things just kept going and they were pretty good, and Daryl kept waiting for the moment when it was gonna be all over, except it never came.

The mail came every day but Sunday, though, and Daryl checked it often.

*

“I got something for you.” Feeling inexplicably nervous, Daryl pulled the papers out of his inner jacket pocket. They was neatly folded in thirds, just like a bill, only a little crumpled by his jacket. Daryl handed them over.

Rick took them, unfolded them. Scanned the first page, then lifted it up and looked at the next.

Daryl shifted from foot to foot, after a minute growing antsy. The test results were summarized on the first page; you didn’t really need those other pages. Daryl’d just brought them to show the results were legit.

Two lines had appeared between Rick’s brows.

“You don’t gotta do nothing different,” Daryl said, thinking maybe that was what Rick’s problem was. “I just wanted you to know he didn’t give me nothing.”

Rick looked up. “He?” 

“Jake.”

Rick held the papers lightly, between two fingers. His voice was polite. “Weren’t you with someone else?”

“No.”

Rick continued to stare at him.

Shuffling some more, Daryl bit his lip. “You don’t gotta stop using condoms or nothing; I just wanted you to know I ain’t got—”

“After the trial,” Rick said, cutting him off but still sounding so polite. “You said you were with someone.”

“Yeah,” Daryl said, a cold feeling beginning to trickle down his spine. “Jake.”

Rick looked away, folding up the papers. “I see,” he said.

 _See what?_ Daryl wanted to yell, because Rick was acting like he hadn’t known, but Rick had asked about Jake that night at the bar. He’d known. 

Rick walked over to the dining table, carefully laid the folded papers on the table, his fingers resting lightly on it—not even enough to press the folded papers all the way flat. His back was to Daryl. His head was bowed.

The room was so quiet Daryl could hear cars going by, beyond the parking lot, out at the main road.

Rick was disappointed. 

He hadn’t known.

Somehow, Rick hadn’t known Daryl had got together with Jake again after the trial.

It made sense, now that Daryl thought it through. Of course Rick would assume Daryl had found someone else to be with, after those things Jake had said at the trial. As though Daryl could just pick up someone he wanted and have him, like at a shopping mall, like it were easy. Rick wasn’t a queer; he didn’t know how hard it was. 

Rick turned around. His face was drawn, a little pale. 

Daryl wanted to say something. Explain, or something. His tongue felt too thick for his mouth. His throat was tight.

Rick’s jaw hardened, generous mouth flattening.

This was bullshit. It was such bullshit. Daryl didn’t know how to explain; he couldn’t explain. He wanted Rick to yell at him and get it over with, but Rick wouldn’t. Daryl already knew Rick wouldn’t; Rick weren’t the yelling type. Rick would stand there with his goddamn jaw and his goddamn eyes; he’d stand there and just internalize, never say nothing. Probably forgive Daryl for it, pity Daryl for it, think Daryl was a victim for it, and Daryl wanted nothing more than to walk out the goddamn door right now.

His feet wouldn’t move. Daryl’s test results were good; he’d wanted to celebrate. He couldn’t make himself move.

A long moment passed; then Rick said, “Get in the bedroom.”

Daryl’s breath caught.

Slowly, Rick tilted his head, as if displeased to see that Daryl was still there.

Daryl went to the bedroom.

Rick followed. “Take off your jeans,” he said, going over to his dresser, pulling out a drawer.

Daryl hurried to comply, because fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_ , Rick was gonna do something. He was gonna do something; he hadn’t got like this before—not for more than a moment or two. Daryl had seen flashes—just cool moments of condensed rage; Rick would get really sharp, commanding— _you sit down_ and _let him go, Shane_ , _don’t use that word_ and _stop doing that with the drill_ , but never two in a row— _get in the bedroom. Take off your jeans._

“Get on the bed,” Rick said, pushing closed the dresser drawer. 

Daryl’s shoes, socks, and jeans were off. He got on the bed.

“On your knees,” said Rick. His hand was full of black fabric—that fabric he’d used to tie Daryl up, just that one time. “Face the headboard.”

Christ. Rick was gonna _punish_ him, and Daryl scrambled to do what Rick told him. Fuck. _Fuck_ , Daryl had never wanted anything so much. He deserved to be punished—getting with Jake after the trial, those horrible things Jake had said—the horrible things Daryl had said, to Rick. He’d said he was with someone just to get a dig in, just to try to—

Daryl still didn’t know why he’d done it. Maybe to hurt Rick—because Rick had made assumptions. Rick was into guys but he’d never admitted it, and then when Daryl had had to admit it, Rick had just taken for granted that Daryl’s ass was on offer—

But it was on offer. It was definitely on offer; it always would be, to Rick, and Daryl deserved to get hit. He deserved to get beat; God, he wanted to get beat within an inch of his _life_ , with Rick there to do it; this was the hottest thing that had ever happened to him.

Rick tugged on one of Daryl’s wrists, wrapping a strip of the black fabric around it, then pulling Daryl’s left wrist against the right, tying them together in front. Once Rick had them tied, he pushed Daryl’s shoulder down. Trying to do as Rick guided, Daryl leaned down toward the mattress until he was on all fours—elbows and knees, his wrists close to a hook low in the headboard.

There were other hooks, Daryl saw now. Rick had put all kinds of hooks in it, so he could tie up Daryl in different ways.

God. Oh God. Fucking Christ, it was so hot. Rick was tying Daryl’s wrists to the headboard and Daryl deserved it; he wanted it; he _needed_ it. He needed it so much. Rick always knew what he needed; he knew it exactly and he gave it to him.

Rick was gonna hurt him. Daryl wanted it so badly his heart was skipping beats.

His wrists were bound so closely to the headboard that turning over would’ve twisted his arm. He could still rise on his knees or slide back off of them to lie on his stomach, but being on his elbows was okay. The way it put his ass in the air was humiliating, but Daryl wanted it; he didn’t have to look at it. 

Twisting, Daryl looked over his shoulder.

Rick was taking off his shirt. 

Fuck, Rick was gonna give it to him. Give it to him so hard—did he had a whip? Maybe he had a whip. Maybe Rick could whip him. Maybe he didn’t have a whip. Maybe he’d just use a belt. Maybe he’d use the buckle, like Jake had that one time. Maybe he’d just use his hand—Daryl had always thought spanking was kinda silly, but he deserved it. He deserved to be humiliated; he wanted to be humiliated—

God, what if Rick just, shirtless, took Daryl over his knees and just started spanking him, telling him he was bad; God, he was so bad—

Rick climbed onto the bed between Daryl’s legs.

Daryl was so wet he could feel drool leaking down his cock. Fuck. 

Rick’s hand settled on Daryl’s ass. Here it was. It was coming—

The hand pushed up Daryl’s shirt.

No.

No.

Daryl’s back was to him.

Daryl struggled in the bonds, trying to twist around. He couldn’t turn over, and the only other thing he could do besides trying to kick Rick away from him was try to pull the hook out. That didn’t work either. 

Rick’s hand just kept pushing inexorably up, his other hand tugging up as well until the buttons on the front of Daryl’s shirt started popping—Daryl had dressed up, just a little, because of the test results and how good they were, how clean he was for Rick, healthy for him; he wasn’t sick after all—

Fuck, Daryl hadn’t even thought about this, Rick seeing his back.

But Daryl deserved it. Even this—Rick looking. Rick seeing the proof of things he already knew. Maybe he’d hit Daryl in the same places as the scars, if he was gonna do it with a belt. He could just use them like a roadmap, show Daryl not just how bad he was but how fucked up he’d always been.

Rick kept pushing the shirt, one hand going underneath to Daryl’s chest to unbutton some of the buttons one-handed, get it off easier. Finally, it was over Daryl’s head. Rick just kept pushing the shirt, past Daryl’s head to his arms, where it was just a tangle of fabric, and all of Daryl’s back was exposed to . . .

Careful touches.

Rick’s fingers, tracing each of the scars. Then his lips, and—kissing.

“Rick.” Daryl jerked against the bonds. This wasn’t what Rick was supposed to do.

Rick’s fingers just pressed against his flesh, stroking the tight edges of the scar tissue, and his lips kept going. He wasn’t saying nothing. Just petting and—and kissing, over and over. All of the scars, everything.

Rick’s lips dragged over one long weal, his fingers on another. His tongue licked up the length of one, across a shoulder blade, his thumb tenderly stroking another one, pressing in along the edges, where Daryl could feel it best.

“Rick,” Daryl said again, his voice faltering, because he didn’t want—

He didn’t want—

Rick’s teeth dragged along the edge of one and Daryl made a sound.

Fuck, this was—

Rick’s fingers dragged down from the lowest one, down into the dip of his lower back, the curve of his spine—the hollow of his crack—

Daryl writhed. “ _Rick_ ,” he said, because he already knew Rick well enough. He might’ve misjudged about the punishment, but Daryl could feel what was happening now—Rick was gonna finger him while he kissed Daryl’s scars and everything about that was just so wrong—

But Daryl’s convulsion hadn’t stopped Rick at all. Rick’s thumb was pressing in, finding Daryl’s hole and stroking it, gently, just a tender circle along the ring of muscle, thumbnail pressed in just slightly—and Rick’s mouth was still on one of Daryl’s scars.

“Don’t,” Daryl called out, his hips jerking spasmodically, but it only made Rick’s thumb go deeper, Rick’s teeth lightly grazing the scar and it was too much.

It was so much.

Fuck, why couldn’t Rick just _say_ something? Instead, Rick removed his thumb, then removed his mouth, and got off the bed.

Maybe now he was gonna get the belt. Maybe Rick had just done that first part to reassure him, let Daryl know Rick wasn’t gonna kick him out, after he beat him—but without Rick touching him, Daryl had time to process, and he was starting to realize it was highly unlikely. Rick had never raised a hand to him. Never even said an unkind word. And when Rick had got Daryl’s shirt off and seen his back for the first time—Rick hadn’t even hesitated. 

No gasp. No moment of confusion before realizing where the scars were from. No expression of pity. As though Rick had known the scars were there all along, and had been wanting to kiss them for a long time.

Twisting to see under his strung-up arms, Daryl looked toward where he heard movement. Rick was near the crib with its changing table, but he was already turning back, holding something. Daryl couldn’t quite see, and he couldn’t think what Rick would want from the _crib—_

Unless—

Maybe Rick was a different kinda nasty.

Rick got back on the bed, and then something wet was touching Daryl’s ass. Yeah, it was—fuck, it was so degrading—it was _wipes_ or something, some kinda wet wipes, and Rick was cleaning Daryl’s ass with them. Rick _was_ that kinda nasty, not whips or chains or nothing but fucking _wet wipes_ , like maybe he was gonna put Daryl in a diaper. Daryl had never been interested in that kinda shit, not once—but maybe—

Maybe if it was Rick—

Daryl didn’t know if that was what Rick was doing. Would Daryl let him?—If Rick wanted something sick like that? Maybe it was another kinda punishment, like Rick was saying Daryl couldn’t take care of himself and Rick needed to be his daddy, take care of things for him—and Daryl was more humiliated than he’d ever been but he was starting to think he’d take it, even that—even that, if it was Rick.

Rick was real thorough with the things—actually pushing into Daryl’s hole with the wipe and digging into it, like he was trying to clean the insides too. Daryl was already clean back there; he’d taken care of it before coming over, but maybe Rick was getting off on it? Dropping one over the side and pulling out another, Rick pushed the next wipe until it was inside Daryl and twisting it—maybe this was it? Like what if Rick was into this, treating him like some kinda infant, having to wipe his ass? 

The problem was it felt good. Rick might’ve been using wipes but he was still opening Daryl up, fingers pressing inside, stretching Daryl’s rim, pushing inside of him and the dampness of the wipes eased the burn, and Rick’s fingers inside him were thick, and full, and Daryl wanted more. Even more of this. Not wanting to show how much he liked it, Daryl held perfectly still, but oh God, if Rick kept doing it Daryl was gonna thrust back into it and then Rick would know how much Daryl wanted—

But eventually Rick was done, and he didn’t say nothing. Didn’t call Daryl a baby or nothing, just dropped the wipes over the side. 

Then pushed his thumb against Daryl’s hole, like before, pressing apart Daryl’s cheeks. Got his thumb against the rim, and then—

Rough hair brushed Daryl’s cheeks—

It didn’t even occur to Daryl, what might be happening; Rick was just so quiet. And then—

Rick’s lips were there. Kissing him. Kissing Daryl’s hole.

Fuck. Daryl’s whole body jerked. He heard himself cry out—then Rick got a hold of Daryl’s ass again, spread his cheeks, and kissed his hole again.

“ _Rick_ ,” Daryl heard himself say, and it was like a wail. He didn’t know what Rick was doing; he couldn’t do this—

Rick kissed him again and this time Daryl could feel wet—the wet swirl of Rick’s tongue, swirling around Daryl’s hole—

“Stop,” Daryl said, and it sounded like a sob. “Rick, stop—”

But Rick kept going, the tongue at Daryl’s hole pushing against the rim—slick and wetter than Daryl had ever felt, warm, oh God—it was the _idea_ of what Rick was doing as much as what Rick was actually doing—

Rick’s hand moved up the curve of Daryl’s buttocks and stroked across Daryl’s lower back—then up to the scars.

Christ.

Daryl bucked, ass jerking against Rick’s face, and Rick’s tongue slipped away. Rick’s other hand came up to spread Daryl’s cheeks again, make room for Rick’s mouth, his lips, his beard scraping Daryl’s flesh and his tongue swirling around that tight ring, licking the muscle there—

“You can’t,” Daryl said, bucking his hips again. “It’s dirty; you can’t; _don’t—_ ”

Rick lost his place once more, but he went back to it just like dog with a bone, steady hand on Daryl’s ass, pulling one cheek to hold it open, the brush of Rick’s beard back against Daryl’s crack and then Rick’s tongue—fuck—

“Stop. You gotta stop.” Daryl shuddered. 

Rick had to pause again with Daryl’s movement, but once the shudder had wracked Daryl’s body, Rick was back. Fingernail sliding along the edge of one of Daryl’s scars. Rick’s other hand petting Daryl’s ass. Then Rick’s beard, and Rick’s tongue, and Daryl’s hole—

“Rick. _Rick—_ ” Daryl couldn’t breathe. He was shaking, jerking uncontrollably.

But goddammit, Rick was fucking _stubborn_ , like he was gonna eat Daryl out if it was the last thing he did—because that’s what Rick was doing, eating him out, just like it was a pussy, and Rick was so patient that it went on like that. Daryl’s hips jerked—either because he was so turned on or because he needed to get away; Daryl couldn’t even tell—Rick’s tongue would slip away, and then Rick, determined, would steady him, hold him down and calmly resume licking—

Fuck.

Rick’s tongue was pressing against Daryl’s hole.

“Rick.” Daryl’s voice was breaking but now he was holding himself real still—unsure, after all of this, whether Rick was really gonna—

But Rick did it, the wet muscle of his tongue pushing through the ring of muscle, thrusting inside and—and there wasn’t nearly enough of it; Daryl could barely feel it, and there was too much of it, oh God. It was too much, Rick fucking him with his tongue. That’s what he was doing—fucking him with his tongue, pushing it in, flicking it out—fuck, and Rick’s hand was still lazily caressing Daryl’s scars.

Daryl wanted to hold still for it, wanted to feel every single thing about this moment, but he also needed to press back—he needed to feel more; he needed Rick’s tongue, Rick’s face in his crack, Rick’s beard against his ass cheeks, _Rick_. Daryl wanted him; he wanted him so bad; Daryl wanted to get _fucked_ ; he needed to get fucked, oh God. He wanted to hold his ass open for Rick’s mouth.

Rick’s mouth.

Christ.

Rick’s mouth was on his ass.

Rick’s mouth was on his ass and Daryl had to hold still and concentrate on it, think about it; he could come from just this: licking and pushing inside and taking him and Rick, Rick, Rick—fuck, Rick _liked_ it. He had to like it; why else would he be doing it—why else would he do it? He’d found out Daryl was clean, and this was what Rick decided to do with it—but he’d also found out Daryl had let Jake fuck him after the trial—

Rick was trying to show him something.

It was real important, what Rick was trying to show him, and Daryl couldn’t keep his mind on it. He couldn’t keep his mind on it because Rick’s mouth was at his hole and he felt—he felt—God, it was so _nasty_ , Rick putting his mouth on it. It was just the filthiest, most disgusting thing Daryl could think of, but—

But—

It felt so fucking good.

It was different than getting fucked, everything about it gentler and softer and wetter. God, wetter, fuck—Rick was starting to make these sounds—wet, filthy sounds, because of how wet it was back there; Rick had to have saliva in his beard. 

Daryl had never felt anything like this.

Part of him just wanted to melt, loosen the way Rick’s tongue was loosening Daryl’s hole. God, he wanted to relax into it, open up for it. Rick had said he liked it tight but wouldn’t it be nice for Rick if he could just slide that nice thick cock of his in, no resistance, slide into a slick wet hole and Daryl would be that for him, loose and warm and “Rick,” he moaned. Fuck, he felt so good. He felt so, so good.

As if in response, Rick pulled away—and shoved two fingers in Daryl’s hole. Daryl made an undignified sound—an incoherent moan of want—and then Rick leaned back in and started licking the rim, tonguing the muscle where it stretched. Then his tongue pressed—pushed in beside the fingers—

“No.” Daryl twitched. “ _No_ , fuck, Rick—I’m gonna—”

Daryl didn’t even know what he was gonna do.

He thought he was gonna come. 

He thought he was gonna have a bowel movement. 

He couldn’t—he’d cleaned himself before coming over, there was nothing to expel, and he hadn’t done anything like that while having anal sex since he was almost half his age. But fuck, Daryl felt like he was gonna lose control in the absolute worst way possible, and then Rick’s firm hand wrapped tight around Daryl’s cock, above his balls, and Daryl’s jerked against it.

Daryl didn’t care. He didn’t wanna come; he didn’t care about coming; he just wanted—God, he wanted . . . Fuck, he just wanted to be open and ready for whatever Rick wanted to do to him, anything, anything Rick wanted to put in him, slide inside of him, Rick, Rick Rick Rick Rick, “Rick,” Daryl moaned again.

The hand wrapped around Daryl’s dick let go. The fingers slid out. “No.” Daryl pushed back for them. “No—Rick.” Daryl didn’t know how to ask for what he wanted but he needed it, Rick’s fingers, his tongue, Rick touching him.

Rick was getting off the bed.

“Don’t,” said Daryl. His hips rolled. “Come on. Come on—” He was loose and ready, and Rick was—

Rick was taking off his pants. 

Daryl shut up.

Then Rick was naked, the bed sinking under the weight of one knee—then Rick was on the bed, getting behind Daryl—touching Daryl’s ass, a flat hand high up on it. Like Rick had done those other times, just before he put it in.

Rick hadn’t put on a condom.

Daryl was sure Rick hadn’t put on a condom; Rick didn’t have a condom; he didn’t have—then Rick was pushing in, bareback, and Daryl was gonna lose his mind. 

Goddamn. 

Shit Goddamn, Jesus Christ. 

Daryl tried to hold himself still, perfectly still, just so he could feel it—he wanted to feel Rick’s flesh, sliding against him. Rick pushed it all the way in, balls deep, then pulled it almost all the way out—the long, burning wet slide of Rick’s incredible dick—naked. His naked dick pushed back in—fuck. Fuck.

Daryl loved Rick’s cock, everything about it; he loved Rick; he loved everything; Rick was inside him. Finally, Rick was really inside him, all the way, for the first time, the warm flesh of his dick dragging against Daryl’s insides with the most incredible friction. Daryl didn’t wanna miss a moment of it—Rick’s hand, steady on Daryl’s ass; Rick’s uncovered dick, pulling back out of him; Rick’s other hand, gripping Daryl’s hip for leverage. Daryl was tense as a statue, but he couldn’t last. He couldn’t last, Rick was _inside_ him—

Daryl’s hips pumped, once, uncontrollably, and the hand at Daryl’s hip slid back down to wrap around the base of Daryl’s cock, holding it—just holding it, tight, so Daryl wouldn’t come. Then Rick’s other hand slid up Daryl’s back, over the scars. Rick’s body curled over him—Rick’s chest against Daryl’s back—and then Rick thrust. Long, hard, deep. Held it there, stayed inside—then slowly, goddammit, way too slowly, eased out.

Then Rick went for it again—long. Hard. Deep.

Fuck. _Fuck_.

As Rick pulled out, his mouth came back to Daryl’s scars, kissing. Licking, nipping. Gentle and wet, the way Rick’s mouth had been on Daryl’s ass—that mouth had been in Daryl’s ass—Rick’s _tongue_ had been in his ass, and Daryl’s hips jerked again. Rick thrust in again, hard.

“Fuck,” Daryl breathed. “Fuck.”

Rick kept going at that agonizing pace, and Daryl squirmed against the bonds, against Rick’s hand gripping Daryl’s dick, cutting off his balls. Fuck, he needed—he needed—

He couldn’t be still; he fucked back onto Rick, thrusting his ass back onto Rick’s cock. He needed it; he needed Rick; he needed all of him; he needed every part of him—“Rick,” Daryl croaked. “Rick—”

Rick’s teeth scraped along the weal that cut into the tattoo on Daryl’s right shoulder. 

“Rick.” Daryl heard himself. It sounded like a whimper.

“Yeah,” Rick said.

Daryl’s whole body twitched. It was the first thing Rick had said since _face the headboard_. Daryl didn’t know what it meant and it drove him wild, that low word harsh against Daryl’s back. “Fuck,” Daryl said, struggling for air. “Fuck me.”

Rick broke the rhythm, just for a moment, hips slamming fast and particularly hard. Daryl heard himself make a sound—an audible little _uh_ just like a woman in one of Merle’s pornos, oh God but it was perfect, but Rick didn’t do nothing after that, just stayed inside him, a long pause. Then, slowly, Rick pulled back out, once again.

“ _Rick._.”

“Yeah?” Rick said again.

Daryl shuddered, his back arching convulsively, not even purposely, pushing his ass back onto Rick’s cock. Oh God, he needed it; he needed Rick to go at him like that again; he needed it hard like that again; he needed . . . . “Faster,” Daryl said. “You can do me faster—”

“Shit,” said Rick, and it was like he lost control again, hips stuttering, going at it hard and wild for one thrust then another, at last what Daryl needed, until finally Rick found the rhythm again—faster now. A little better. 

Daryl used to goad Jake. He’d done it with other partners, too—taunted them. Part of it was because he had always wanted it as hard as possible, but part of it had been to punish himself for wanting it that way. It’d been about making himself seem like the tougher one even though he was getting fucked; it’d been about being in control even though he was the one getting fucked.

But with Rick it was different. Rick wanted to give him the things he wanted, just because he wanted them, and Daryl wanted it to be nice for Rick, a good fuck for Rick, but he didn’t know how. The rules of this game were so different. “Rick,” Daryl heard himself say, his voice breaking. “H-harder. Rick. Please—”

The hand on Daryl’s back slid toward Daryl’s neck, tangling in Daryl’s hair—Rick yanked on it, using it for leverage, pulling Daryl back onto Rick’s cock.

“Fuck,” said Daryl. “Give it to me. Rick.”

Rick yanked on Daryl’s hair, hips slamming down against Daryl, cock driving inside of him—long and inexorable and hard, opening Daryl’s wet ass and spreading him, filling him.

Rick was gonna come inside him.

He was gonna come inside him and Rick didn’t have no condom; Rick’s come was gonna get inside him, fill him up. Rick’s come was gonna leak out of him—finally, finally, Rick’s come filling him and leaking out of Daryl’s hole, down his thighs, all over his ass, messy. Daryl wanted it so bad, Rick coming inside him—

Just the thought was making Daryl crazy, his hips going wild, breaking Rick’s demanding rhythm. He heard himself talking without even thinking about it. “Can you—Rick, I need . . .”

“Tell me,” said Rick roughly. 

“Rick,” Daryl heard himself say, and it sounded pathetic. 

“Anything,” said Rick. “I’ll give you anything, darlin’.”

“Do it to me,” Daryl said desperately, “just fucking—nail me, Rick—” 

Rick’s hand tightened in Daryl’s hair. His teeth set gently on Daryl’s back, then bit down.

Daryl lurched against the pain of it, his cock trying to react, but Rick’s hand was wrapped tight at the base. Rick’s teeth were still biting, sharp. “Please,” Daryl cried. “Please, do it, give it to me, inside, I need—I need—gimme—give it to me, I need—I want—I want—I _want_ —”

Rick’s hips went still against him, cock hard inside him, and then—then that warm rush, pulsing and wet and everything; Christ, it was everything, like this was the best that Daryl could be, the best he’d ever been, complete with Rick’s come. He didn’t think he could feel like this again, like he’d done everything right, like it was okay if he’d done things wrong. It was okay, because Rick was there, filling him, making him whole, finally giving him come because he’d done good enough; he deserved it, and Rick liked it.

Rick liked him. 

Rick thought he was good enough, thought he deserved more than what Jake had given him and his father had given him and his brother had given him. Rick thought he deserved something else—this fullness and warmth, the kindness of Rick’s touches on Daryl’s back, and softness of Rick’s mouth on Daryl’s hole, all of it.

Fuck, it felt spectacular, and Daryl wanted it to go on forever.

Rick’s hips were slowing, his cock now just giving a few wet pulses, and Daryl wanted to slump down, rest his head on the mattress, but he didn’t wanna lose the feeling of Rick’s cock softening inside of him. Daryl felt full, so good, fuzzy with completion and desire.

“Good,” Rick was saying. “That was so good, asking for what you want.” Rick curled over him, kissing Daryl’s back. “I love giving you what you want, gorgeous.”

Daryl twitched. “Stop,” he croaked.

“You look so good,” Rick said, and kissed Daryl’s back some more.

Daryl shuddered and Rick slipped out, gross and too cool, messy, come already leaking out of Daryl’s hole as soon as the head of Rick’s cock came out. Damn. Damn—Daryl still wanted Rick’s cock, that feeling of fullness, but that wet, sloppy feeling was almost as good; he hadn’t felt it in so long, and never like this.

Once Rick was no longer leaning over him, Daryl slumped like he wanted, rested his head like he wanted. It put his ass higher in the air, but he couldn’t lie down; Rick was still behind him, and this was good enough. 

Rick put a hand on Daryl’s ass, thumb swiping at the mess drooling from Daryl’s ass, and Daryl shivered. Rick’s thumb paused.

Rick shouldn’t be _touching_ that, his own come on Daryl’s ass cheek, and when was the last time Rick had had to look at something like that? A nasty, dirty mess of an asshole, fucked sloppy with come leaking out of it. Instinctively, Daryl’s glut muscles tightened, trying to close away the sight.

Rick’s hand slid on Daryl’s ass cheek. Pulled. Rick’s other hand came up, touching the other cheek—pulling as well, spreading Daryl’s cheeks. 

Christ, Rick was _looking_ at it. Then—

The brush of hair—

“ _No._ ” Daryl seized up. “Rick, no, _please—_ ”

But Rick was already doing it, leaning in, face pressed against Daryl’s ass once more, Rick licking Daryl’s wet, messy asshole. Licking his own come out of it, lapping—fuck, it was soaked back there; Daryl could hear the squelching sound of it, and Rick just kept going, pressing his tongue in—

“Please,” Daryl heard himself beg. “Please, Rick.” His body twitched and spasmed, but Rick’s only response was to slide a hand off Daryl’s ass, over his hip, around to Daryl’s cock—

Which Daryl had forgotten about, again—

And Rick’s fingers just wrapped tight around the base, so Daryl still couldn’t come.

Rick’s tongue went back to lapping at his hole—cleaning it, laving over it—dipping into it—

Christ. Daryl couldn’t stand it; he shuddered, Christ. It was too much, what Rick was doing; he wanted to stop it. He _could_ stop it—

Eclipse.

He could say it.

He could say it.

He could end it all, make Rick stop. Then Rick wouldn’t be doing this filthy, degrading thing, and Daryl didn’t want it to stop. No one had ever done anything like this to him, and here was Rick—honest and steady, a good cop, a good dad—performing this act that should disgust a man like that, and yet he was doing it wholeheartedly. With zeal.

Daryl didn’t want Rick to stop, not ever. He wanted to spend forever with Rick gently licking his hole, wet and making Daryl feel—he felt—he didn’t know what he felt. 

He felt decadent. This is how a rich person felt, an important person, someone special. This is how a prince felt—careless, content, completely defenseless and utterly safe. Like he was something precious you had to pet and cherish and spoil—God, he felt _spoiled_ , his hole wet and messy and Rick cleaning it out for him, taking care of it. Like Rick would kiss his feet if Daryl asked, feed him grapes one by one, kneel at his feet.

Jesus Christ.

As Daryl relaxed into it, Rick’s hand loosened on Daryl’s cock. Then Rick pulled away, his finger dipping into Daryl’s wet hole, swirling around, touching. Then Rick’s finger was leaving him as Rick’s body moved up alongside him, and—and—

Rick’s hand tugged gently on Daryl’s hair, and Daryl lifted his head, turning, and Rick’s finger was there—filthy with Rick’s own come, and Rick’s finger touched Daryl’s lips. Tentatively, Daryl opened his mouth, and Rick’s finger pressed inside.

Fuck.

Daryl had Rick’s finger in his mouth—that was bad enough, something about it too real or too intimate, putting his mouth on Rick like that—but then there was where Rick’s finger had been, the come on it, Rick’s own come from Daryl’s ass—oh God. Daryl couldn’t help it. He closed his eyes and sucked.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Rick breathed.

Daryl opened his eyes, looking up at him, but he didn’t want to stop sucking Rick’s finger, admit what he was doing, so he closed them again.

“Fuck,” Rick breathed, and kissed him—his finger still in Daryl’s mouth, Rick’s tongue pushing in beside it. Rick kissed him with the mouth that had just licked his own come from Daryl’s ass and it was nasty, all of it should’ve been so nasty, except that it wasn’t. 

It was okay.

All of it was okay. Liking it was okay. Rick liked it too.

He thought Daryl was fucking hot.

It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t sick; Daryl wasn’t sick; he wasn’t wrong. Daryl wrapped his tongue around Rick’s finger, sucking it like he wanted to. Loving it. 

Rick’s finger slid out, and he began untying the knot binding Daryl’s wrists to the hook on the headboard. Daryl tried to watch, see Rick’s face, but the angle was wrong. Daryl watched him anyway, because Rick was quiet and methodic and so calm, as though he’d always been a savage underneath, and the politeness had always been an act.

Fuck.

Daryl’s cock had been hard ever since Rick had told him to get on the bed, but now it was aching.

Once Daryl’s bound wrists were free from the headboard, Rick didn’t untie them, instead pulling at Daryl’s shoulder, tugging him up. At first thinking Rick just wanted him to sit up, Daryl tried to do as Rick directed, eventually figuring out Rick was pushing him over so Daryl could lie down on his back. 

Then Rick was reaching for Daryl’s wrists again, pulling them up—tying them back to the headboard, on a higher hook.

Rick wasn’t done with him.

Jesus.

Daryl wanted to ask what Rick was gonna do, but he could see Rick’s face now and it was full of such intensity that Daryl found his questions dying away. He wanted it, everything, anything. Daryl’s hole was still wet, sticky traces of Rick’s come still on his thighs.

Rick moved back down Daryl’s body, opening Daryl’s legs, climbing between them. Then he leaned down—Daryl knew what Rick was gonna do and yet he felt like he was watching in slow motion. He couldn’t process it, couldn’t _stop_ it; Rick was gonna . . .

He did it, Rick’s mouth sinking down over Daryl’s naked, leaking cock.

“Rick.” Daryl’s voice cracked sharply, concurrent with the compulsive snap of his hips. He didn’t wanna thrust in Rick’s face, but it was exactly what he did, causing Rick’s teeth to scrape painfully and Rick had to scramble to get Daryl’s cock back where he wanted it, which made Daryl want to thrust again.

Without a condom. Christ, Rick was sucking him without a condom.

Rick laid his forearm across Daryl’s abs, an iron band, while Rick’s tongue swirled around the head of Daryl’s cock.

“Rick.” Daryl’s hips seized again; he couldn’t help it, but this time Rick held him down.

Just thinking about what Rick was doing was driving Daryl crazy. Rick had to taste the precome like that; he’d licked it. Swallowed it, because it weren’t like he spit or rubbed his tongue off or nothing. Goddamn, Rick’s tongue. Rick’s tongue in his ass and now licking his cock, Rick’s mouth covering the head again and Daryl was _inside_ of Rick, inside him with nothing between them.

 _Come on and fuck me_.

Daryl remembered Rick saying that, like Rick _wanted_ to be fucked, like he’d be open to it. Like it wasn’t degrading or nasty or wrong, and oh God. Oh God. _Fucking_ Rick, getting to be inside of Rick—

Daryl was gonna come. He was gonna come and Rick wasn’t even saying anything, just sucking and licking. Goddamn, Daryl was gonna come in Rick’s _mouth_ , and there were so many things that Daryl wanted but that wasn’t one of them.

“I’m gonna,” Daryl tried to say, twisting in the bonds. “Rick, I’m gonna—I can’t—please, you gotta . . . You gotta, Rick, I’m gonna shoot.”

Pausing, Rick pulled back, his mouth coming off of Daryl’s cock wetly. Rick’s hand wrapped solid and warm around Daryl’s dick, above his balls. So tight, Rick’s fingers cut off everything. Then he looked up.

Rick’s lips were red, shiny with saliva and fluid. His own come was in his beard, and yet he looked at Daryl seriously, with intent. He looked—he looked concentrated, somehow, like everything he was had squeezed into a white-hot stream aimed directly at Daryl, brows drawn down, jaw tight.

Daryl felt his face go hot all over. Fuck, everything Rick had done, and Rick just looking at him was the thing to make him blush.

Nervously, Daryl licked his lower lip. “What—what are you doing?”

Rick loosened his hand on Daryl’s dick, bent down, and proceeded to blow him again.

“Christ.” Daryl jerked under him.

Rick just kept on sucking, completely committed. Meticulous, even, in the way of a zealot.

Daryl’s hips thrust again, and Rick went on like that—sucking, licking. Still stopping too often, his rhythm unbalanced, nothing like what it was when he had his cock inside of Daryl, and just the thought of the way Rick fucked made Daryl strain against the bonds. Rick was used to fucking; he wasn’t used to sucking; how long had it been since he’d done a cock like this; who had he done it to; was Daryl special; was he the first in—in—how _long—_

“Rick,” Daryl said. “I’m gonna—it’s gonna—”

Rick pulled back again, hand cinching around Daryl’s dick.

Daryl shuddered, and couldn’t come. Rick wasn’t gonna let him. “Rick,” Daryl said, hearing the plea in his own voice. He didn’t know how to ask for it—Rick knew what he needed, wasn’t giving it to him on purpose.

Rick went back to sucking, and it kept going on that way. Daryl would get real close, then Rick would stop, hand wrapping around Daryl’s dick so tight at the base he couldn’t come.

“Rick,” Daryl moaned, when Rick went down on him again. Christ, Daryl had been so _close_. This was like torture; he needed to—

He needed to—

Fuck. He needed to fuck. His hips were jerking, fucking up into Rick’s mouth. Daryl didn’t want to. Christ, he didn’t want to fuck Rick’s mouth, but Rick was trying to take it—mouth open, lips over his teeth so they wouldn’t scratch, Rick’s head bobbing over it, trying to match Daryl’s thrusts. 

Oh God. Oh God. Daryl didn’t wanna do it.

He didn’t wanna fuck Rick; he didn’t wanna spurt in Rick’s face; he didn’t wanna come. He could still feel the mess in his ass, sticky and drying, and Daryl wanted to savor that. He wanted to savor that, how loose he was, how messy and wet he was, used up; he’d done it good. He’d done such a good thing for Rick, being there to get full of come, but of course Rick wasn’t like that.

Rick wasn’t like that. Daryl wasn’t just there to get fucked; he was there to feel good, but God, this wasn’t good. It was torture, the way it kept building up inside, building and building. God, he was so tight inside, wound up. He couldn’t even _think_ about anything else, how loose Rick had got his ass, how he’d got Daryl full up with come, how he’d _licked_ it out of Daryl’s hole; Daryl couldn’t even think about it. He could only think about coming, and—and—

He was gonna do it in Rick’s mouth.

Christ, fuck, Christ, Daryl was gonna—

But then there was Rick’s hand, wrapping around it. Squeezing.

“Rick.” Daryl yanked at the bonds. His throat was dry. He could feel moisture at the corner of his eyes. He wanted to come. He needed to come so _bad_. He’d never needed it this way, never. 

Then Rick was going back to licking it, getting his tongue all over the head, swirling it—Christ. Jesus. It looked obscene, Rick down there, holding it, tonguing the slit like he loved it. Jesus. Rick looked like a slut.

Did he realize that?

Then he went down on it again and Daryl almost came just from that. Squeezing his eyes shut, he felt himself arch off the bed, into Rick’s mouth. Rick’s mouth. Daryl could still see it, behind his eyelids—Rick’s fat lips, pouting for cock, hungry for it, his silky wet mouth; he was filthy for it. Jesus. Rick was filthy. He was _filthy._

Daryl arched off the bed again.

Then Rick was holding Daryl’s cock, squeezing him to keep him from coming and Daryl thought he might cry.

This time, when Rick let go, he didn’t go back down. Instead he came up, and untied Daryl’s hands.

For some reason, Daryl thought Rick was gonna turn him back over, tie him back up, then fuck him again. For the first time ever, Daryl didn’t want it, didn’t want to get fucked; he didn’t care about getting fucked. He just needed it over; he needed to come. He needed it to stop and he needed to come in such an all-encompassing way.

If Rick fucked him again he was gonna say eclipse without meaning to and then—then Rick would stop and it would be awful. It would be terrible; Daryl didn’t want Rick to stop, not even this—he didn’t want it he didn’t want it he didn’t want it—

But Rick didn’t try to turn him over. He got Daryl’s hands down from the headboard and then he kept untying, loosening Daryl’s hands from each other. Freeing them. Rick pulled off the tangle of Daryl’s shirt from Daryl’s wrists, tossed it on the floor. Daryl found himself rubbing his wrists, and then Rick went back down.

Started gently licking.

“Rick.” Daryl’s voice sounded broken.

Rick wrapped his lips around it. Went back down on it. Started sucking—and it wasn’t enough. It just wasn’t enough—too gentle or too shallow, not hard enough or deep enough for Daryl to get off, and Rick had to know that, had to know Daryl needed more. Just a little more. Daryl’s hands twitched with wanting it, and then he knew what Rick wanted him to do.

No.

Daryl’s hands curled into fists at his sides. _No_. 

But Rick _wanted_ it; he’d wanted it those other times he’d sucked Daryl. He’d taken Daryl’s hands and put them in his hair—his thick curls, Daryl’s rough fingers brushing Rick’s scalp as Rick went down on him, but never more than that. Never more than that. He _couldn’t_ pull Rick’s head in, force him to take it, force him to choke on it—Daryl didn’t want it to be like that. 

He wanted to let Rick do whatever he wanted to him; he didn’t wanna make Rick do anything, force anything. He wanted his body to just be open and ready, ready for anything Rick wanted, anything Rick wanted to take—his mouth, his ass, his dick, anything. Rick could have it; it was his.

Daryl’s hands twitched again.

Rick’s hand wrapped warm and solid around Daryl’s balls, cutting them off. His other hand wrapped around Daryl’s dick. Rick came off it, and looked up.

That was all he did. Just came off of Daryl dick and looked up at him, lips red and puffy, eyes blue. Rick stared straight into him, _you know what I want_ , he seemed to say, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t say anything at all.

“Rick,” Daryl said, voice cracking again.

Rick went down, put his mouth on it again. Gently let go of Daryl’s dick, his balls. Then he looked up, that same look, just holding Daryl’s eyes with Daryl’s dick in his mouth, and Daryl couldn’t help it.

His hands came up. Touched Rick’s hair.

Rick sucked. This encouraging little suck. A _good boy, Daryl; you did what I wanted, keep going_ suck, and Daryl needed to come so bad that that one little suck made him lose his mind. He buried his hands in Rick’s hair and pulled Rick’s head in, hips coming up, and Daryl was fucking him.

Daryl was fucking him, fucking Rick’s face, holding Rick’s head there so Daryl could take it—so he could take it and take it, so he could finally come and do it in Rick’s mouth and oh God, Rick was bad at it. Really bad at it, his teeth scraping and throat gagging and hands scrambling, and then Daryl was coming and it was too late to do anything about it. Too late to stop it, too late to stop come from getting in Rick’s mouth, even though Daryl let go once it finally started happening.

Finally, finally. Daryl was coming, and there was come in Rick’s mouth and then some on his lips as Rick struggled to take it, uncoordinated, messy. Inexperienced, and Daryl couldn’t look at it. Squeezing his eyes shut, he looked away, still coming, Rick’s warm mouth still on him, trying to get it all. Oh God. What if Rick had never done this before, what if no one had ever come in his mouth before, what if Daryl was the first one, what if—

What if those nasty things Daryl always wanted—what if Rick wanted them too?

Daryl couldn’t stop thinking about how it had looked, even as he finished coming—Rick’s mouth on Daryl’s dick and Rick’s hands scrambling at Daryl’s hips as Rick struggled to take it. Rick had still been trying to take it as Daryl came in his mouth—come spilling out of Rick’s red mouth and Rick still going after it, trying to get it.

Oh God. Rick’s mouth was still on him.

It was still on him as Daryl came down, as he finally stopped coming. As his dick got softer and his body loosened, Rick was still on it. Sucking and licking and—and kisses, kisses on Daryl’s dick, the gentle mouthing of lips and lapping of Rick’s tongue, God; it was too much. Didn’t he know it was too much? It hurt; it was too sensitive, and . . .

Daryl pried his eyes open, and there wasn’t come on Rick’s face. There was come anywhere Daryl could see, and Rick was still just lapping at him, gently licking—Rick had swallowed it. He’d swallowed it and licked it off his lips, wiped it off his chin—oh God.

“Come here,” Daryl said, grabbing Rick’s head—no longer self-conscious about yanking on it, pulling Rick up to him. “Come here,” he said again, and kissed him.

Daryl needed to kiss him. He needed to taste it, taste his come inside of Rick’s mouth, his tongue thick and forceful in Rick’s mouth. He needed—he needed to clean it out, take away the taste, apologize, and yet Rick just tasted like Rick—slightly sharp, but warm and soft and good. Rick. Daryl pulled away, burying his head in the crook of Rick’s neck. Christ. Daryl didn’t want to look at him.

Rick’s arms came around him. Daryl could feel Rick pressing his cheek against the side of Daryl’s head. “I’m glad you got yourself tested,” Rick said, after a long, warm moment.

Christ.

Daryl stifled a choked laugh against Rick’s chest.

“I did it once Lori and I started the divorce,” Rick went on. “I knew she’d been with Shane, and Shane . . .”

Rick didn’t finish, but Daryl could guess what Rick meant. Bringing his arm around Rick’s naked hip, Daryl pulled him in closer, face still pressed up against the warm darkness of Rick’s neck.

“I,” Rick began, then started again. “I haven’t been with anyone, since her. Jessie and I . . . we dated, but we didn’t . . . Daryl, I started dating Lori in college. I never been with anyone else, since then.”

Christ. Why was Rick _telling_ him this? Daryl scraped his blunt nails against Rick’s hips, tried to pull him closer.

“I don’t like the thought of you with anyone else,” Rick said.

Daryl turned his head, wanting to see Rick’s face—did Rick actually think he would . . . ? But the angle was wrong, and Rick’s hand moved on Daryl’s back, tracing a scar.

“I hate Shot,” Rick said.

_Jake._

“I can’t even say how much I hate him,” Rick said.

 _You don’t gotta worry_ , Daryl wanted to say, but that wasn’t what Rick was saying. He wasn’t worried Daryl would cheat on him; he wasn’t saying Daryl was a slut. That wasn’t what he was saying; he was saying something else entirely. 

Daryl got it. He got what Rick was saying; it was just . . . a little hard to take. “I’m gonna . . .” Daryl pulled away. He couldn’t look at Rick. “Imma go smoke,” he said, getting off the bed.

“Daryl,” said Rick.

Daryl pulled on his jeans, grabbed his tangled shirt from the floor. “Be right back,” he said. He heard Rick sigh as he got out of the room, but Daryl would make it up to him. He’d make it up to him; he just needed—he just needed some air. He needed to breathe. He couldn’t—he couldn’t take all that warm touching, not after all that Rick had done; he couldn’t take Rick saying those things. It was too much.

Two of the buttons on Daryl’s shirt were hanging by threads, but Daryl didn’t care about keeping it closed. He just wanted his back covered when he was in the parking lot; he just needed to clear his head. Outside was already kinda starting to be muggy, beginning of March but you could feel summer around the corner. Georgia was like that—pretty springs with flowers and rain and sunshine, but if you knew what was coming you already felt the threat of sweat and sticky air.

Daryl’s cigarette cut through it, clean and cool. That one time Daryl had come out here to the parking lot of Rick’s apartment complex, Rick had followed him, tried to smoke with him. It’d been sweet, but Daryl didn’t want him there this time; he just needed to think about it. He just needed to be alone.

Christ. Rick had eaten him out. He’d eaten him out and then he’d fucked him, fucked him with no condom, then he’d eaten him out again. Creamed him and then licked it up like a Thanksgiving meal and made Daryl taste too, then he’d made Daryl fuck his face and swallowed that down too. Goddamn. Rick was a comeslut. 

Daryl puffed on his cigarette.

Rick was a comeslut and then afterwards, he’d held Daryl close and told him he ain’t never had anyone else since _college_ ; what was that—like nineteen years old? And then he’d told Daryl about how he wanted to go steady and be exclusive, and how he got angry at the idea of Daryl being disrespected. Because that’s what Rick had meant; that’s what he’d meant about Jake, and Daryl didn’t understand how Rick could be all these things at once. How he could be so goddamn nasty in one breath and in the next just be—just be . . . perfect, like all of this was something wholesome almost, something . . . something _kind_ , and real.

Daryl smoked the cigarette down to the filter. Threw it on the ground, but realized he weren’t wearing shoes to grind it out. And it weren’t nice to litter anyway. Leaning down, he picked it off the ground, ground it out, then slipped the filter in his pocket. Then he walked back to the apartment to find Rick.

Didn’t know what he was gonna do, what he was gonna say. What do you say to someone who licked you out that way, to someone who held you and wanted you and was so lonely, to Rick, who was sad and confusing and who cared for him the way that Rick cared. Rick cared for him. Daryl knew it; he got it. He didn’t know what you did with that, with someone like that.

When Daryl got back to the bedroom Rick had jeans on and was standing by the window. Looking out of it. Sunlight streamed down on him, touched the edges of his curling hair.

He didn’t turn and look at Daryl, knowing he was there. Knowing he was there and also knowing it was a lot; everything Rick had done and said was a lot, knowing Daryl needed time. 

Daryl knew he should reach out. He should reach out and hold him and touch him and kiss him, those things that Rick wanted, those things that Rick liked so much. Normal person things, the things that people did when they cared for each other, but it was too much and not enough. Daryl had never been normal, and the only thing Daryl wanted in that moment was to be Rick’s. To show Rick all that Daryl would give him, everything he had.

Crossing the room, Daryl went over to Rick, beside him. Got down on his knees.

Rick put his hand in Daryl’s hair.


End file.
